I would be the equally ruthless queen who whispered in his ear when he was becoming too soft. Rocco Fausti had passion running through his veins, and passion could lead to weakness. He would not become weak or lax. He would be as feared as his grandfather, as hisfather. I would remind him of this, even if it took me sharing him in the bedroom to keep him in the red.
Sighing, I closed my eyes as the yacht to Monaco stirred up the waters below us and brought forth the memories of the night he had with Freja. She could not touch me, of course. He did not lose his breath after like he had done with me, and we had only fucked the once, but watching him work her into frenzies made myficaache and dampen. Even the thought of how he had said that,fica, the word forfigin Italian, but the equivalent of pussy. Because it can purr, ah? I moaned to myself, fidgeting in my lounge chair.
Rocco looked over at me, his eyes covered by dark sunglasses, and then turned his face back to the sun.
I sighed again, and it was wistful sounding. He was one of the most stunning men I had ever seen. Fausti blood ran strong through his veins. Jet black hair that was as soft as the finest silk. Sea green eyes that were much, much, lighter than mine. Skin the color of sun-warmed sand. Long black lashes that only enhanced his eyes. His bone structure was impossibly perfect. High cheekbones. A nose that was as straight as an arrow, which gave contrast to the softer, plumper lips below it. His teeth were straight and white, and depending on his mood, they could melt a woman’s heart or warn a man when he smiled and showed them to the world.
The tattoo on his forearm solidified his place in our world—a royal member of the Faustifamiglia. There was no need to baptize him in their way of life. He was born with their blood running through his veins, pumping through his heart. But the tattoo symbolized his acceptance of it. It was their thing—a lion with a rosary around its neck, a sacred heart in the center.
What made me even more…breathless?
The thought that Rocco had never lost control with Freja but had been mindlessly fuckingme. He was an animal, no separation between the lion and the man. I could get a tender hand to touch me anytime, anywhere, and I wouldifthe need ever hit, but with Rocco Fausti?
I would be the only woman he turned into an animal for.
He would be the only man I allowed to hunt me in that way.
That big cock of his was a weapon, and if my insides had anything to say about it, they were weeping out of soreness.
How delicious is that?
The only regret I had, again, was allowing another woman in the bedroom when I could have pushed him into that state myself. Not by kissing him, touching him, making his cock stiff, but by fingering myself and taking the honor away from him.
I should have started with that instead of offering him tender passion on a platter first.
I almost thought I had lost him. (I should have known better.) That he would go to the lawyer and say the arrangement was not viable. I was not as untarnished as my family had assured his family I was. He had watched me pop my cherry on my own.
Waa. Waa. Waa.
What was so honorable about an intact piece of skin? Sooner or later, it would go, and better by my finger than by a bicycle seat or something as hard and ridiculous.
My place in Rocco Fausti’s life really had nothing to do with sex.
The thought of our arrangement brought the details back to me.
Yes, I must give him heirs, but that was in the future.
“Ach.” I rolled my eyes. I did not want children of my own, but…it was part of the deal—a non-negotiable part of it—and I had to agree, since Rocco was the oldest son of Luca Fausti and the first grandson of Marzio.
At least these sons would be heirs to the Fausti throne, and my name and blood would be mixed with one of the most notorious and, at the same time, honorable families in Italy’s history. More so than that,myfamily name would be mixed with theirs.
Oh, how amazing it was when the world over found out I was engaged to none other than Rocco Fausti! If it would not have been such a girlie move, as they call it, I would have squealed and clapped.
I waved a hand, pushing my feelings aside.
These sons could be raised by help. A price to pay for belonging tothe family. I’d mostly be responsibility-free, except for taking care of them while they developed in my womb.
Rocco could even have children as his father did, with unknown women. Yes! That would be fine with me. I would bring the idea up, but not until the sting of our night faded from his face. And the scent of her from his mouth. He had the smell of Frejaficastill on his tongue.
I would wait until he broached the subject. That way I did not sting his pride again and make another mistake. I had to be careful of my steps. We were heading toward a place not many men could claim they reached.
King of the Fausti family.
Back to my point, before I followed a different thought again. There were so many of them!
My place in Rocco Fausti’s life.
It was not to make mad love in the bedroom. Cook him meals. Feed his passionate heart with warm words and fake support.
